


Baking

by Severina



Series: Alphabet Soup [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Community: 1_million_words, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And though she's spent several weeks now in his employ, somehow she had just never noticed quite how <i>thin</i> Rumplestiltskin is.  The outline of his ribcage shows clearly through his skin, and she can do nothing more than gape at him, the tray with his dinner still balanced precariously on one hip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the letter "B" at LJ's 1_million_words A to Z challenge, a series of unrelated stories for each letter of the alphabet that I have labelled "Alphabet Soup". Dark Castle & Storybrooke.
> 
> * * *

There isn't a lot of incentive for Belle to improve her skills with cookery. No matter what type of food she attempts, the result is the same: Rumplestiltskin scorns and mocks her, and she stomps away to the kitchen where she bangs the pots and pans in frustration. She's not even sure why he insists that she prepare his meals when he's certainly willing to use his magic to provide everything else he needs.

If she weren't so stubborn she'd serve him bread and butter for his supper, but her pride just won't allow her to give up.

Balancing a tray while managing not to trip over the hem of a gown is another skill she has yet to master, so Belle allows herself a small smile when she makes it to the dining room without incident – a rare enough occurrence since she joined Rumplestiltskin's service. The roast fowl in lemon sauce that she's planning to serve him today is a rare treat from her homelands, and though it doesn’t look _quite_ like the culinary masterpiece her father's cook used to offer, it's close enough that she thinks this may be the meal that finally passes Rumplestiltskin's muster. All in all, she's feeling quite confident. Perhaps even a little smug.

Then she glances up at Rumplestiltskin, and all thoughts of her gastronomic superiority fly from her head.

Rumplestiltskin is leaning over the basket next to his spinning wheel, his fine silk shirt gaping open as he reaches for a bundle of straw. And though she's spent several weeks now in his employ, somehow she had just never noticed quite how _thin_ Rumplestiltskin is. The outline of his ribcage shows clearly through his skin, and she can do nothing more than gape at him, the tray with his dinner still balanced precariously on one hip.

He must sense her watching him, because suddenly his head snaps up, his razor sharp eyes spearing her in place. "Well," he barks, "what revolting concoction are you going to attempt to poison me with this evening?"

Belle jerks at the sharpness of his tone, and feels the tray teetering. She makes a valiant effort to slow the toppling and regain her balance, but the result is merely that half of the lemon sauce stains the front of her gown while the rest of the meal crashes to the stone floor with a clatter. 

"Oh, no," she murmurs. She dips to her knees, pulls back her hand when it becomes clear that there is nothing to salvage in the mess, and raises her gaze warily to Rumplestiltskin. "I'm… I'm _so_ sorry."

Rumplestiltskin merely sniffs. "Broken another set, have you? Soon I'll have to conjure more china."

"I… I just..." Belle begins, but stops herself before she can say more. How can she possibly explain that she was rendered mute and immobile with shock over the sight of her employer's gaunt frame, or that she is mortified that she hadn't noticed his need sooner, that she hadn't made more of an effort to keep him fed and healthy? She shakes her head. "I do apologize. I can make you something else—"

"No need," Rumplestiltskin answers. She jumps back, startled, when the mess on the floor disappears with a wave of his hand, and notices that her gown has been similarly cleaned when she manages to pull herself to her feet. "I've a deal to make this evening. I won't be requiring your services for the rest of the night."

"But—"

"Off you go, then," Rumplestiltskin says, waggling his fingers at her. "Fix yourself something, dearie. Just try to make it palatable. I won't be around to mix you up a healing potion for at least a few hours."

He is gone in a puff of purple smoke before Belle can do more than blink, his closing salvo already half-forgotten as she smooths a hand down her skirts. Cruel as some of his jests may be, she resolves to give him no reason to use them any longer. He clearly needs better sustenance than what her awkward attempts at fine cooking have been able to provide, and from now on she will be the one to ensure he gets it. 

No more fancy meals, she thinks resolutely. She'll stick to hearty soups and stews, thick fresh bread, and sweet cakes and pies. She'll have Rumplestiltskin fattened up soon enough.

* * *

"Wait," Rumplestiltskin says, holding up a hand to still her as she moved to place another slice of pie on his plate. " _That's_ why you insisted on the peach orchard?"

"And the cherries, and the plums, and the pears," Belle answers with a laugh. "You were skin and bones!"

"I was hardly wasting away," he murmurs.

"I'd seen farmers after the two year drought with more meat on their flesh than you, Rumple," Belle insists. She frowns when he again refuses the pie, sets the spatula down and instead leans over to put her hand in his. "I was worried about you."

"And I never gained an ounce, no matter how much food you threw at me," he answers. At her confused look, he lifts a shoulder. "The magic, Belle. It… feeds on energy, for lack of a better term. The more magic is expended, the more it needs to feed. Preparing for the dark curse took everything in me."

"But here in Storybrooke you still have magic," Belle says, "and yet—"

"I'm fat?" 

"Rumple! You're _healthy!_ "

"Any more of your homemade pie and I'll be so _healthy_ I'll have to let another notch out of my belt," Rumplestiltskin grumbles good-naturedly. He turns his hand atop the table to cup her fingers in his, strokes a thumb along her skin gently. "Here, magic is—"

"Different," Belle finishes. "Yes, I know. Just promise me that you'll clear your plate and have at least one slice of pie with supper? Then I won't worry so."

"As long as you promise _me_ you'll help me work it all off upstairs afterward," Rumplestiltskin says, just so he can see her blush. He isn't disappointed, by either the flush of her cheek or the press of her fingers against his as she leans in to brush her lips against his ear.

"I promise," she says. 

Suddenly Belle's fresh peach pie seems even more enticing.


End file.
